A Sick Sherlock is Easy to Trick
by sourgrapesnape24
Summary: Sherlock becomes sick, and John has to find a way to make him take some medicine. Written by my friend and I at 4:30 A.M., so if this absolutely sucks, that's why. Please review! :)


"Shit, I'm sick." The Consulting Detective thought upon waking up one morning feeling absolutely awful. As he looked out the window to tell the time by the sun's angle, the bright light that penetrated the blinds caused a piercing pain behind his eyes. He rolled over, turning away from the light. This movement made the mucus in his chest shift, causing him to cough painfully and harshly.

Mere seconds after the occurrence, Sherlock heard a knock on his door, followed by his flat mate, John Watson, popping his head through the door.

"Sherlock, are you okay? You don't sound so good." The Army Doctor said, voice laced with concern.

"'M fine, g't out." Sherlock said, interrupted by a yawn.

John's brow furrowed in worry. "Really? You know, there is a flu going around the Scotland Yard; Lestrade actually just texted saying he'd be out for a few days. I can get you-"

"I said 'm fine-!" The detective yelled, causing him to cough harshly.

John paused for a second, doctor instincts kicking in. "Sherlock, even if you feel fine, you're obviously not!" He said sternly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "You can't contaminate the crime scene or the other members of Scotland Yard with your germs! Now you are not leaving this flat, _no matter what_, and you're going to let me take care of you, because you're obviously not capable of doing it yourself."

"Oh please," Sherlock retorted, running his sleeve under his dripping nose. "I don't need to be babied, I'm not germy."

"Says the man who just wiped his nose with his sleeve. Don't you know how unsanitary that is? We have tissues for a reason!" John corrected.

Sherlock glared at the blogger, not enjoying the idea of being reprimanded.

"Now, I'm going to make you a nice cuppa, and you're going to rest on the couch on the living room so I can keep an eye on you." The doctor instructed.

"No, I'm staying-"

"Sherlock…."

The dark haired man huffed. "Fine." He reluctantly slid out of bed, wobbling a bit as he stood, and pulled on a hot pink bathrobe. As he walked out of the bedroom towards the living room, John noticed blood splatters on the back of it.

"Sherlock, why is there blood… You know what, never mind. I don't even want to know." John said, pulling a fuzzy blanket out of the closet. He motioned for Sherlock to sit on the large squishy couch in front of the telly.

Once Sherlock was seated, John draped the blanket over him and handed him the remote. As he was headed to the kitchen to make Sherlock's cuppa, he heard the distinctive sound of someone sniffling, trying to keep their nose from dripping snot everywhere. He grabbed a box of tissues from the counter in the kitchen, and set it down in front of Sherlock.

"Blow." John instructed.

"Excuse me?" Sherlock asked, confused by John's request.

Knowing that the detective would take his words literally, he had to think through his answer very carefully. "Take a tissue, and put it to your nose. Next, inhale through your mouth, and forcefully exhale through your nose to expel the excess mucus in your sinus cavities."

Sherlock glared at John and attempted to follow John's directions, but nothing really came out.

"Hmm, you're obviously congested. Can you breath all right? Breath in and out through your nose for me." John instructed.

Sherlock tried to do as he was told, but instead of a solid inhale and exhale, it was more of a strangled sniff and a disgusting gurgle.

John looked away from Sherlock, making a disgusted face. "Yes, that's congestion alright. However, the tea should help with that. Let me go make it."

As John was walking towards the kitchen, he could hear Sherlock coughing in the living room. John thought it sounded awful, and that his flat mate desperately needed medicine. Although, the Army doctor knew that Sherlock would never take the medicine on his own. Luckily though, John hatched a plan that he hoped would be Sherlock-proof.

Once his plan was ready, John brought Sherlock his cup, carrying out the plan.

"Sherlock, here's your cuppa," John said, holding out the cup for Sherlock to take. "Drink it while it's hot."

Sherlock took the cup, looked at it, looked at John, then back to the cup. He took a small sip first, as if he were testing for poison. Seemingly satisfied, Sherlock brought the cup back to his lips to take a larger sip.

"This is good, almost has a grape flavour to it. I like it." Sherlock commented, quickly draining the cup.

He set the cup on the coffee table in front of him; yawning and stretching once it was set down. As Sherlock's eyes were starting to droop, John helped him lean back on the couch, and covered him with the blanket.

Within the minute, Sherlock had fallen into a restful sleep. John sighed a sigh of relief. His plan had worked!

John, knowing that Sherlock would refuse to take any medicine on his own, had slipped a dose of Nyquil into Sherlock's tea. Luckily, Sherlock was too out of it to notice that was where the grape flavour had come from.

John made a mental note to himself; it's easy to trick a sick Sherlock.


End file.
